The Ties That Bind Us
by Digital World Warrior
Summary: Full Summary Inside.


**The Ties That Bind Us**

**A/N: YAAAAY! I finally got this chapter written! I guess it goes to show my dedication as a writer is unquestionable. With moving to a different town, my laptop crashing, and summer school, I have a lot on my mind these days. Thank God for Fanfiction, otherwise I would go insane from stress! Anyway, all is well and special thanks to: PuddingNinja, , Blackshock95 and MasterMightyena for sending me their AWESOME OC's! And for putting up with my constant PMs. You guy rock! Special thanks to others who submitted as well, I'm really sorry I couldn't use your characters guys. And I promise it's not because one was better than the other, but sometimes as writers we have to make tough decisions. But hope is not lost! In later chapters, I'm going to need 5-10 more pony OC's that will play important roles towards the epic ending I have planned. (And I'm not telling you what it is :P). If you want to know what positions I need, either PM me, or say so in a review. Anyway, STORY START! KIYA!**

**Chapter 1**

**It Begins With Bouncing**

When it came right down to it, it was always the timing that mattered. Timing is everything, _in_ everything. And it was never a good day in the life of whatever poor guy forgets that.

Today, Miranda "Randy" VanCuren had proven once again to her five good friends that perfect timing was not her strong point. It never had been, and as she openly admitted it probably never would be. Because when you burst into school just after One thousand four hundred and eighty six (and a half) rubber balls fall out of eighteen different lockers, then complain to the nearest person that you can't believe you missed it just as the Principal walks past, you know that you're pretty much screwed for life.

Now, the six teenagers were waist deep in the cast-off books of the last two generations. Sorting through the mildewed and coverless rejects the sadistic school faculty of Breakwater High had conjured up from the depths of the library. Five of them present more out of pity than requirement. And supposedly being supervised by the elderly, and in Miranda's personal and rather justified opinion, crotchety librarian Mrs. Gripp. Who happened to be asleep in the backroom. They had been there for a couple hours now, and had been working steadily while Miranda griped silently about not being able to wear her rollerblades in the library. Mrs. Gripp had claimed that it was a felony to 'abuse means of transportation' before shuffling off with a senile mumble to herself. So Miranda had to comfort herself by putting the skates in her backpack with the rest of her junk and using them as a counter weight against the increasing book pile in her arms.

The library was a rather depressing place. Though large and smelling comfortingly of paper and ink, it was dark and cramped feeling. Hardly any sunlight came though the floor to ceiling windows, and the baby puke green carpet didn't help either. The assignment, which the kids were forced to accept, was to shelve the books on the huge dark wooded shelves that ran from one end of the first floor to the other. The shelves were about twenty feet tall, and were lined side by side. The higher shelves were reached by means of four different ladders that rolled along the length of three of them. At one point there had been more ladders, but the number had been reduced after the football seniors of the previous year had used two of them as battering rams on a rival school's locker room door.

Quite the job, but they delved into it with the spirit that only teenagers with a will to bug their elders could. So take _that_ authority.

The kids themselves were not remarkable. They were not overly impressive. Even the sanity of a couple of them was up for debate. But they had all been friends for as long as anyone could remember, and everyone who knew them always had the sense that they fit together in a strange way that no one but themselves could understand. Which most people tended to like because they felt it added a sense of realism to things. Besides, they all had their own interesting qualities that kept them out of the gutters of society. If nothing else, they were entertaining to watch.

Miranda "Randy" VanCuren, who was mentioned above, was fifteen. And known both for her orange and black hair, and for her record of getting even with people. According to rumor, there was not a space she could not fit something odd into nor was there a person she would not demonstrate this on. It was a proven fact that she did not care what others said about her, tongues could wag, eyes could roll. But the most they would get was a backwards glance. Sometimes not even that. There had been one point towards the beginning of the year, when a new student had commented rather crudely that one of "the Day-Glo Girl's" friends had a nice figure. Words travel quickly through the grapevine, and while compliments were always appreciated towards anyone, crude suggestions were anything but. Randy had hunted him down and attacked him with a profanity laden spiel that boiled down to: _A pox on you Sir. The oogling of a female's figure is a grave offense, and shall not go unpunished. Prepare to meet thy social doom._ It was not four hours later that as he was walking towards the door to leave school when something cool, brown, and slimy slid down the back of his pants as it leaked from the bottom of his backpack. Of all of the students in the school who witnessed that, there was only one who looked on in silence.

Damon Reynolds was the first of the friends, and the oldest at sixteen. And out of all of them he was the most popular in the outside world. An impressive 6'5 and talented athlete, he was largely hailed as the most eligible boy in school. Which wasn't surprising considering his rugged good looks. Brown hair, kept shaggy and almost covering his blue eyes. Held back with a grey fedora hat he took everywhere. He was a friendly person, fun to be around, and understanding of anything that could bother a person. This meant he was often the one who was turned to in a crisis, as he had the maturity to handle it, and the sympathy to help. As a bonus, he was one of the boys who didn't dress like he had just rolled out of bed. While his clothing was usually varied, he argued that having a signature style was important. So it was usually a white suit shirt, black vest, and jeans with a neat crease going down the length of them. Even his glasses looked nice when he came to class.

Angelina Jones was second, and also sixteen. falling behind Damon by a mere three months. Like him, she was also popular, and it wasn't an unusual sight to see three to six different boys watching her as she walked past them down the hallway. Her appearance was very typical to the spastic-plastic people who did not know her assumed she must be. She had blond curly hair that fell over her shoulders unless pinned and tied neatly, and every day she showed up in an outfit that looks as though it could easily be over a couple hundred dollars. In the typecasting community that is High School, these things alone would be enough to mark anyone. What most judging cynics did not know though, was that Angelina made most her clothing herself. While her family was wealthy, almost incredibly so, she preferred to put the mind under that sea of curls to work. And shake every last drop of potential from that horrible 1960's geometric print.

Danika James and Jack Aldone were both fifteen and the next two in the misfit line up. Danika, or DJ as she liked to be called, was one of the "sanity questioned". She was a very abstract character and walked to the beat of her own drum. Or as the case most often was, to the punk beat throbbing from the ends of her ever present hot pink headphones attached to the matching Ipod. Music was a great thing of hers, and when she wasn't remixing or scratch-backing or other musical things. She was doing something spastic that no one else had ever thought of. Her fashion sense was another hallmark of her originality. At some point in the eighth or ninth year of her life, she decided to dye her hair electric blue and trade her childhood jumpers for more casual clothing. Much to the dismay of Angelina. Her wardrobe for the next eight years consisted of t-shirts and skinny jeans, although it has gone back and forth between tanktops and graphic shirts for awhile. She finally settled the dispute when she came to school wearing a pink rock shirt that she had thought was covered in pink skulls. There were skulls alright. Skulls that ordered you to die in tiny pink print. After that she only wore tank tops of varying colors, although she did pass comment on the shirt. Calling it creatively deceptive. The one thing she would not change for love nor money was her socks. Always and forever would she have mismatched socks of varying neon colors. Because if Punky Brewster could get away with it, why couldn't she?

Jack, while less flamboyant than his female friend, was no less original. He also had a passion for music, and was usually finding some way to alter it or enhance it on his computer. An old school kind of guy, he didn't approve of some the "music" they have nowadays. Give him Queens or give him Megadeath. So long as you weren't a Belieber he was cool. His mannerisms, quiet demeanor, and graphic t-shirt/dark color MO gave you one of two impressions. One, emo. Two, a quiet guy who happened to like dark colors. If you sized him up right, you got a kind of friend that is in short supply. His one bane was his given nickname. Because Randy, being of the teasing nature was constantly calling him Jackie. Although that was a condescending thing to call a boy. And he had asked her many times not to call him that. In fact, considering how long they had known each other, the exact number was probably incalculable. But that didn't matter, as Randy said it was her sole duty to make sure he knew that he could have been born a girl just as easily as a boy. Jack didn't really argue this point, but then again he didn't really argue about anything.

Rosaline McAdams was the last, and the youngest at fourteen. She was too shy to be popular, but she was liked anyway because she was sweet as they come. She was quiet when others were loud, and the kind of person that tread quietly in life out of fear of waking anything else Her long brown hair was constantly falling into her face, and if there was no friend to hide behind in a pressing situation, her hair did the job for her. Shielding her from the plagues of the outside world. Like most of the kids in America, she dressed in t-shirts and jeans complete with sneakers. Her only accessory a necklace with a heart pendant hanging from it. For all her shyness, no one who did not know her could guess at her talent for art. And her friends often mused that when she painted or drew or read out loud, it was as though all the bottled up extrovertion came out in flashes as neon bright as DJ's socks.

With all the differences between them, outsiders assumed the conversations that passed between them were interesting and noteworthy. And while that would normally be true, today was the exception. Because for all the mundanity that was going on with the stacking and sorting and lifting, Damon felt the need to interrogate.

He was moving steadily back and forth between a long table that had been stacked with overfilled boxes of books, and the far wall of the library. Some of which were as mildewed as the books themselves. Obviously being the physically strongest of the group, He didn't complain. But he did hold the boxes away from the white shirt, as he disappeared for several minutes around the corner of the other bookshelves. However, his muscle was one of the furthest things from his mind, as he looked questioningly over the black rims of his glasses. Returning triumphantly once again with empty arms.

"I mean, how do you come up with stuff like that? Are there even places that sell bouncy balls in surplus?"

Randy, was standing next to a ladder with an enormous armful of books. Standing patiently as Angelina took them one by one and lined them accordingly on the shelves, later they would be organized by someone who actually knew what the Dewey Decimal system was. Next to them, Rose sat on the floor handing up other books that needed shelved. Which Randy bent down diligently to receive. She was just bending down again, when she paused to consider his questions. As answer she shrugged as best she could under her load, and grinned at him, a gesture that was all teeth and swinging raven and orange hair.

"I don't know." She said truthfully. "Sometimes this little voice comes up, and says something like...'You know what'd be awesome?' So, I usually just go with that. And as for your second question, sure there are. Ebay, Bro."

"You bought them on Ebay?" Damon clapped the dust from his hands as he asked. His voice registering as a mixture of slight disbelief, and amused admiration.

"All the way from China. As it turns out not many people think the things are worth a quarter each. So now vending machine companies are filling their machines with more practical stuff. Like cheap plastic jewelry. Personally, I like the balls better. How about you Rose?" She punctuated this last remark by lightly nudging the brunette girl with a sneakered foot.

Rosaline looked up and flicked the constantly falling hair from her face. It fell back immediately, but that didn't seem to bother her. "Well." She started, pausing a beat to think out her answer. "Jewelry can be nice. But rubber balls are fun too. It's a tough call." She shrugged her shoulders under her blue T-shirt, and went back to stacking 'Banking Tips For Minors' over 'Mating Calls Of North American Forest Animals'.

Randy shrugged again too. Not because she didn't know, but because she knew the answer was typical to Rosaline. As Rose didn't like to disagree with anyone, and somehow managed to be perfectly at home on both sides of any argument.

"Plastic jewelry is NOT nice in the least." Angelina announced from her place on a ladder with an indignant shake of her blond curls. "Plastic is meant to be turned into packaging, not accessories." Everyone within hearing smiled at her conviction, but they didn't question her. But assumed she would be one to know such things.

Randy couldn't shrug this time, as several more volumes had been added to the ever growing pile, but her grin was unfailing. "DJ? Jackie?" She called, craning her neck around to see them across the room. "You guys are a part of this conversation too ya know. A penny for your thoughts?"

The raven head flicked in acknowledgment to her but the other, electric blue, stayed where it was. Bobbing in time to some unidentified punk track blaring from the ends of the pink headphones that forever dangled from the top of a well used Ipod. A shrill whistle from anyone usually brought her back to them though, for reasons none of them could quite explain. As everyone knew for a fact that DJ usually kept her Ipod volume only a few clicks away from full blast.

Jack turned his head around and frowned at her from under the protection of the purple sweatshirt.

"My name isn't Jackie, _Miranda._" He said. "I'm going to keep telling you that until you get it."

"And I'm going to pretend I didn't hear my birth name come out of your mouth." She said simply, "But whatever. We have a more pressing matter to deal with than the gender preference of your name. Bouncy balls? Or plastic jewelry?"

Before Jack could answer, Danika snorted. "Bouncy balls all the way Dude. You can't throw jewelry at people. It just falls to the ground. But the balls bounce back, so you don't have to fear retaliation." She said this in the cheerfully sure tones of one delivering an unshakable argument as she removed the earbuds and clicked the Ipod off.

Rose, Angelina and Randy nodded as if this made sense. And in the odd little world everyone knew to be DJ's, it did.

"I do have a question though." Angeline said from her perch on the ladder rung. "Why the half ball?"

"I was kind of wondering about that too…" Rose admitted.

Randy was about to answer them, when a sound that was half yelp of pain, half surprised curse echoed across the library. Accompanied by the clattered thumps of books falling, and the thud of something large and muscular hitting the floor. Something that could only be Damon.

"Dude!" DJ called to him, "Did you trip over a mastiff or something?"

There was a grunt.

"You DID?"

With a great amount of shuffling, Damon came around the corner again, this time a corner of the ripped box clutched in his hand. The contents of which were undoubtedly spread over the floor in the next aisle. His face was not twisted in pain, but comical annoyance.

"Not a word." He warned, pointing specifically at Randy, who was looking like she would like to say a great many words. "Not. A. Single. Word."

"Are you Okay?" Rose asked.

Damon nodded and yanked his shirt back into place. "I'm fine, but I'd like to know who left a pile of books on the floor."

Rose blinked thoughtfully. "Well…I don't think anyone's been over there." She said. "Maybe Mrs. Gripp found them and brought them out."

Randy shook her head negatively. "No way Kiddo. Once she goes down, she's out for a good three hours." She knew this because it was not the first time she had spent an afternoon under the watchful, nearsighted eye of Mrs. Gripp.

Angelina climbed down from the ladder, Randy set her books on the table. Rose, DJ and Jack got up. Wondering if he had been attacked by the notorious untied shoelaces that stalked the halls of just about everywhere on Earth.

"We haven't even been over there Dude. No fun, no interest." DJ said, and to prove her point she stretched her legs leisurely, her neon green and purple socks stretching as well.

Damon frowned and crossed his arms. "Well, there's a pile of books in the aisle."

"Mmm, you did just drop about seventy on the floor." Angie said pointedly.

Randy and DJ snickered at this, and they and Jack disappeared around the corner to begin gathering the books he had dropped. Damon rolled his eyes. And Rose patted his arm comfortingly as she passed by.

It wasn't long before they had gathered the books again into a new box, and when it was full, Rosaline and Randy slid it away towards the back. Jack was just about to suggest that they go back to the tables when he looked down and saw another book laying on pale carpet. It was leather bound, and large. Decorated with a gold leafed inlay, and a metal clasp that looked like cloudy brass. It kind of looked like a diary, or a textbook, but unless it was Harry Potter's 'Monster Manual' it didn't look like any textbook he had ever seen.

"Here's one we forgot." He said, bending over to pick it up. "It's pretty big. Maybe you tripped over this Damon."

Damon, Angie and DJ looked over his shoulder.

Angelina squinted at it. "Funny. I don't remember taking that one off the shelf."

"Taking what?" The two girls had appeared again and joined them in examination.

Jack held out the book towards them, Randy took it and looked it over critically. "I don't remember that one either." She said, and handed it off to Damon. Damon shrugged and shook his head, then handed it to Danika. DJ actually turned it upside down and shook it, and then gave it to Rose.

Rose looked over her shoulder at the library door, sure that at any second the Principal was going to burst in and catch them shirking the job. But still curious as the rest of them, she traced the inlay with her finger. "It kind of looks like a book of fairy tales my Grandma used to have." She said. "But I've never seen anything like that in our school library before."

It was true. Besides its' vicious and social responsibility disregarding football team, Breakwater High was also known for its' bland literary selection.

"This is one of those 'don't judge a book by its' cover' moments." DJ said. "Open it up and let's see what's inside."

Rose was unsure, and she held out the book towards Randy again. "I don't know…what if it's someone's diary? There could be personal things written in there."

"Hey, as long as it's not Mrs. G's denture polishing guide, I'm cool." Randy said, and began fiddling with the clasp. The metal refused to budge, and before long she was kneeling on the green carpet and pulling hard.

"Don't worry Dude, I got your back!" And with that, DJ joined her, and an intense tug of war went on for the next few minutes. Randy holding the clasp as tightly as she could in hopes of forcing it apart, and DJ pulling valiantly at the stubborn book.

The others watched them flounder for a second, then a look passed between Jack and Angelina. Angie sniffed imperiously, and from her blond sea of hair, she plucked a single dark pin, Jack placed a hand on either pulling shoulder. "Probably not the best course of action, girls." He said

Angie wiggled the pin in front of them, "Let a professional handle this." She said, "The last thing I want is for you to add damage to property to your rap sheet." and they handed the book to her.

Seating herself on the floor, Angie put the pin in the lock and began fiddling with it. After a minute she frowned and reported that the cover was shifting too much for her to work. That was easily remedied, and the other five kids knelt down to hold the flimsy cover in place as she poked and prodded the lock. It wasn't until the pin had almost disappeared into the hole did it snap open with a decisive _ca-click._

"Alright!" DJ cheered. "You go girl!"

With one more glance at the library door, Angelina opened the book with one hand, and carefully maneuvered the pin back into its' original place with the other. "It's nothing." She said casually. "I've locked myself out of my room more than enough times to know how to utilize a bobby pin."

While the other girls praised her, Jack picked up the book gingerly and began to look over the pictures.

"I think you're right Rose." Damon acknowledged, as he looked over Jack's shoulder. "It looks like a fairytale book."

A very old fairytale book. It smelled like an attic; musty and damp like mildew. The illustrations were thick, monotone, and drawn in a rough sketch style. Rubbery figures clutched at each other, or shouted, or ran around. It made the characters seem fierce and bold and in motion, although features could never be fully made out. There were Dragons, and Unicorns, Knights and a plethora of other creatures. Typical elements to a fairytale.

Damon flipped the pages while the others looked on silent in study, and it wasn't until they nearly reached the end of the book when they noticed that the dark illustrations were the only thing the book seemed to consist of. No words to tell the story of Rapunzel or Saint George or Peter Peter the Pumpkin eater. The pictures were there though. In one, a figure in long robes looked down from a high tower at an army that was gathering outside the window, his face hidden in the darkness of his hood, and on the wall behind him, an inky black and withered Oak tree was pictured on a shield. In another, soldiers in full armor sat around a camp fire, while a banner with the emblem of a sun and moon intertwined together fluttering above them. There were others of battles, and catapults, and faceless shadows that were running down from mountains . But the most impressive was one of two armies facing each other, every fold on their armor was visible, some shields with the same sun and moon emblem on them, and others with the twisted oak. Above the right side, the sun and moon side, the sky was full of dragons. On the other, the Oak tree side, there were what looked like gargoyles instead. Twisted, deformed demons with wickedly curved talons, and carnivore teeth under snarling lips. The kids looked at all of these, and wondered if it was not a fairy tale book, but the personal sketch book of some aspiring Davinci.

The first to speak as usual, Randy broke the studious silence by adjusting the black hat that had permanently taken residence on her head, and tucking a lock of orange behind her ear. "Very cool." She said, "Gothic, but cool. Does it say who drew them?"

Jack scrutinized the old paper for several seconds before shaking his head. "No. Which is weird because all the artists I've ever seen sign their name at the bottom of their pictures. But there aren't any names under these." He said.

Rose had been puzzling this out, and again moving her hair from her face, remarked quietly that Jack was right, and most artists did sign their name. But since this one had not, she believed most books had illustrator acknowledgements at the end. Or at least a footnote. DJ clapped her on the back, and told her she was a genius.

Damon took the book from Jack, and flipped past the remaining pages to the back cover. Pacing as he did so. Then after a minute he smiled and waved it towards them. "Hey, look." He announced. "Words."

"My turn."

Jack reached for the book, and Damon handed it to him. He looked at the words and scoffed. "Who writes like this anymore?" He asked, referring to the spider-webby calligraphy that filled the page from top to bottom.

Randy glanced at it. "Medieval enthusiasts?"

"Or someone who wants to get on someone else's nerves."

"Just read it. We can compare calligraphy techniques later."

Jack squinted at the page. "Alright, alright. Don't have a conniption, I think I can read it."

The words ran down the page in straight paragraphs, no sentence much longer than five or six words. Letters looped around each other, and on the old brown paper, it was hard to make out. Word by word, they pieced it together, each person reading the words they guessed. Rosaline took it upon herself to write the words on a separate piece of paper in a normal hand. So that they could be read later. Eventually, they came out with this:

Ties That Bind. Eyes So Blind.

Open First. And Then Unwind.

Winds that blow. Fire's Harsh Glow.

Open First. And Then Let Go.

Mayhem And Rage. The Stink Of Fear.

Thousands Of Years. And It's Still Here.

The Putrid Hate, The Darkest Night.

They Lay In Wait For The Unholy Fight.

The Voice Of Greed. That Solemn Creed.

It's Waking Once Again.

The Lone Proud Tree. The Strongest Oak.

It's Mighty Roots Won't Break.

Though Withered And Gnarled. It Will Survive.

Because What It Can't Get. It Takes.

The Sun And Moon Will Rise And Fall.

But Ever Shall It Stand.

It Will Survive. And It's Roots Will Spread.

Over The Promised Land.

The Two Of Alternating Worlds. Shall Come And Be As One.

A Battle Cry. A Magic Song.

And The Evil Time May Be Over And Done.

It Is Not Set In Stone.

It Is Not Locked In Sight.

But Something Moves Within The Dark.

That Is Not Good And Is Not Right.

It ended there, and it didn't have a title. But no one really cared as none of them knew what to make of it. They laughed though, because it sounded almost like a movie pitch. Especially the last part. Magic? Evil Trees? Ridiculous. Evil, to their adolescent minds meant bad people. It meant death and war and monsters. Evil was…well, Evil. Magic, well that didn't mean anything. It didn't exist in the first place. It was something you dreamt about when you were still young enough to think you would grow up to be a prince or princess.

"It's probably the journal of some emo kid who likes dragons and stuff." Jack said when the laughs had died, and he laid the book on a table close at hand.

DJ, who by nature had more of a flair for dramatics, got up from the chair and jumped onto the table. "Or." She said dropping her voice to a deep and comical bad-guy voice. "The plan book of an evil art teacher. Who plots to capture us and put us to work in the chalk mines for the rest of our lives!" She ended this with a terrible mock evil laugh.

Then the lights flickered above them. The six kids glanced up

"Geez, I was just kidding." DJ said, and she got down from the table. "No need to get creepy about it. When did the universe get so touchy?"

Randy got off of the chair, and stretched her arms. "Something must be up with the switches. I'll take a look." She disappeared around the corner, and the lights flickered again. Then cold water began to pour from the ceiling.

The five kids left in the hallway ducked down, and heard an exclaimed "Oh, Shit!" from Randy. Jack pulled his hood over his head, wrapped a supporting arm around Angie who had fallen against him in surprise, and bellowed for Randy.

"It wasn't me!" Came the reply.

She had reappeared holding her hands over her head, the red T-shirt she was wearing already soaked. Her tan pants turning a deeper brown. "Is there a fire or something?"

"I don't-"

Whatever Jack didn't, was lost as a boom of thunder filled the room. So terrifyingly loud that twelve hands were clapped to twelve ears, and even then their heads reverberated with the force of it.

"Holy Crap!" Damon stood, and with a yank, pulled up Rosaline, and DJ. Jack and Angie jumped to their feet. Randy scanned the room for other life forms with murder in her eyes. She thought it was a joke. And the others knew from experience that if someone had chosen to come through the door it probably would have been the last act of their lives. "Hey!" She called through the water that sheeted down. "If this is someone's idea of revenge for the lockers, it's NOT FUNNY!"

"Really? I find it very amusing myself." Someone said.

The kids wheeled to see who had spoken. And saw a man standing in the corner of the room. He smiled at their surprise, chuckled and made a low bow. He was wearing a long robe, and with the motion, it swept along the floor. When he rose again from the bow, the steely cerulean of his eyes looked from one silent kid to another.

The kids looked at him, unsure what to say. Except for Randy, who was still livid and for now had disowned the idea of tact.

"Who the hell are you?" She demanded.

"Quite the conversationalist, aren't you my dear?" The man chuckled again. "Forgive me though, perhaps I was a bit off myself. My name is Blight. Malaise Blight A pleasure to meet you."

**There you go guys. I leave you in the suspense of what will happen until next chapter. BUWAHAHAHA! So, review for me, and tell me what you think, and how I can improve. And if you want to submit, don't forget what I said at the top.**


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